The Golden Keel / The Vivero Letter

by Desmond Bagley

  He moved and then I heard the scrape of rock and there was a scattering of dust on my face.

  It took a long time. Coertze worked slowly and carefully, removing rocks one at a time, testing each one before he took it away. Sometimes he would go away and I would hear a low-voiced conversation, but he always came back to work again with a slow patience.

  At last he said, ‘It won’t be long now.’

  He suddenly started to shovel away rocks with more energy and the weight on my back eased. It was a wonderful feeling. He said, ‘I’m going to pull you out now. It might hurt a bit.’

  ‘Pull away,’ I said.

  He grasped my left arm and tugged. I moved. Within two minutes I was in the open air looking at the fading stars. I tried to get up, but Francesca said, ‘Lie still.’

  Dawn was breaking and there was enough light to see her face as she bent over me. The winged eyebrows were drawn down in a frown as her hands pressed gently on my body testing for broken bones. ‘Can you turn over?’ she asked.

  It hurt, but I turned on to my stomach and heard the rip as she cut away my shirt. Then I heard the sudden hiss of her breath. ‘Your back is lacerated badly,’ she said.

  I could guess how badly. Her hands were soft and gentle as they moved over my back. ‘You haven’t broken anything,’ she said in wonderment.

  I grinned. To me it felt as though my back was broken and someone had built a fire on it, but to hear that there were no broken bones was good. She tore some cloth and began to bind the wounds and when she had finished I sat up.

  Coertze held out a baulk of six-by-six. ‘You were damned lucky, man. This was across your back and kept the full weight of the rock off you.’

  I said, ‘Thanks, Kobus.’

  He coloured self-consciously and looked away. ‘That’s all right—Hal,’ he said. It was the first time he had ever called me Hal.

  He looked at the sky. ‘We had better move now.’ He appealed to Francesca. ‘Can he move?’

  I got to my feet slowly. ‘Of course I can move,’ I said. Francesca made a sudden gesture which I ignored. ‘We’ve got to get out of here.’

  I looked at the tunnel. ‘You’d better bring down the rest of that little lot and make a good job of it. Then we’ll leave.’

  Coertze went off towards the tunnel, and I said, ‘Where’s Walker?’

  Piero said, ‘He is sitting in a truck.’

  ‘Send him down to the caravan, and whistle up your other two boys—they can go with him. They can all leave now for Rapallo.’

  Piero nodded and went away. Francesca said, ‘Hadn’t you better rest a little?’

  ‘I can rest in Rapallo. Can you drive one of those?’ I nodded towards a truck.

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘Good. Coertze and Piero can take one; we’ll take the other. I might not be able to manage the driving part, though.’

  I didn’t want Piero and Francesca alone, and I wanted Walker to keep a watch on the other Italians. Of course, I could have gone as passenger with Piero, but if he tried anything rough I was no match for him in my beat-up condition. Coertze could cope with him—so that left me with Francesca.

  ‘I can manage,’ she said.

  There was a rumble from the tunnel as Coertze pulled in the entrance, sealing it for ever, I hoped. He came back and I said, ‘You go with Piero in that truck; he’ll be back in a minute. And don’t tail me too close; we don’t want to look like a convoy.’

  He said, ‘Think you’ll be all right?’

  ‘I’ll be O.K.,’ I said, and walked stiffly towards the truck in which I had left my gear. It was a painful business getting into the cab, but I managed in the end and rested gingerly in the seat, not daring to lean back. Francesca swung easily into the driving seat and slammed the door. She looked at me and I waved my hand. ‘Off we go.’

  She started the engine and got off badly by grinding the gears, and we went bouncing down the road from the mine, the rising sun shining through the windscreen.

  The journey back to Rapallo was no joy-ride for me. The truck was uncomfortable as only trucks can be at the best of times, and for me it was purgatory because I was unable to lean back in the seat. I was very tired, my limbs were sore and aching, and my back was raw. Altogether I was not feeling too bright.

  Although Francesca had said that she could drive the truck, she was not doing too well. She was used to the synchromesh gears of a private car and had a lot of trouble in changing the gears of the truck. To take my mind off my troubles we slowed down and I taught her how to double-declutch and after that things went easier and we began to talk.

  She said, ‘You will need a doctor, Mr Halloran.’

  ‘My friends call me Hal,’ I said.

  She glanced at me and raised her eyebrows. ‘Am I a friend now?’

  ‘You didn’t kick me in the teeth when I was stuck in the tunnel,’ I said. ‘So you’re my friend.’

  She slanted her eyes at me. ‘Neither did Coertze.’

  ‘He still needs me. He can’t get the gold out of Italy without me.’

  ‘He was very perturbed,’ she agreed. ‘But I don’t think he had the gold on his mind.’ She paused while she negotiated a bend. ‘Walker had the gold on his mind, though. He sat in a truck all the time, ready to drive away quickly. A contemptible little man.’

  I was too bemused by my tiredness to take in the implications of all this. I sat watching the ribbon of road unroll and I lapsed into an almost hypnotic condition. One of the things which fleetingly passed through my mind was that I hadn’t seen the cigarette case which Walker had spoken of many years previously—the cigarette case which Hitler was supposed to have presented to Mussolini at the Brenner Pass in 1940.

  I thought of the cigarette case once and then it passed from my mind, not to return until it was too late to do anything about it.

  SIX: METCALFE

  The next day I felt better.

  Everybody had got back to Palmerini’s boatyard without untoward happenstance and we had moved into the big shed that was reserved for us. The trucks had been unloaded and returned to their owners with thanks, and the caravan stayed in a corner to provide cooking and sleeping space.

  But I was in no shape to do much work, so Walker and Coertze went to bring Sanford from the yacht basin, after I had checked on Metcalfe and Torloni. Francesca spoke to Palmerini and soon a procession of Italians slipped into the yard to make their reports. They spoke seriously to Francesca and ducked out again, obviously delighting in their return to the role of partisans.

  When she had absorbed all they could tell her, Francesca came to me with a set face. ‘Luigi is in hospital,’ she said unhappily. ‘They broke his skull.’

  Poor Luigi. Torloni’s men had not bothered to bribe him, after all. The harbour police were searching for the assailants but had had no success; and they wanted to see me to find out what had been stolen. As far as they were concerned it was just another robbery.

  Francesca had an icy coldness about her. ‘We know who they were,’ she said. ‘They will not walk out of Rapallo on their own legs.’

  ‘No,’ I said. ‘Leave them alone.’ I didn’t want to show my hand yet because, with any luck, Metcalfe and Torloni might have fallen for the story I had planted. And for some reason, not yet clearly defined in my mind, I didn’t want Francesca openly associated with us—she would still have to live in Italy when we had gone.

  ‘Don’t touch them,’ I said. ‘We’ll take care of them later. What about Metcalfe and Torloni?’

  They were still in Genoa and saw each other every day. When they had found out that we had disappeared from Rapallo they had rushed up another three men, making five in all. Metcalfe had pulled the Fairmile from the water and Krupke was busy repainting the bottom. The Arab, Moulay Idriss, had vanished; no one knew where he was, but he was certainly not in Rapallo.

  That all seemed satisfactory—except for the reinforcement of Torloni’s men in Rapallo. I called Coertze and told him what
was happening. ‘When you go to get Sanford tell the police that I’ve had a climbing accident, and that I’m indisposed. Make a hell of a fuss about the burglary, just as though you were an honest man. Go to the hospital, see Luigi and tell him that his hospital bill will be paid and that he’ll get something extra for damages.’

  Coertze said, ‘Let me donner those bastards. They needn’t have hit that old man.’

  ‘Don’t go near them,’ I said. ‘I’ll let you loose later, just before we sail.’

  He grumbled but held still, and he and Walker went to see what damage had been done to Sanford. After they had gone I had a talk with Piero. ‘You heard about Luigi?’

  He pulled down his mouth. ‘Yes, a bad business—but just like Torloni.’

  I said, ‘I am thinking we might need some protection here.’

  ‘That is taken care of,’ he said. ‘We are well guarded.’

  ‘Does Francesca know about this?’

  He shook his head. ‘Women do not know how to do these things—I will tell Madame when it is necessary. But this boatyard is well guarded; I can call on ten men within fifteen minutes.’

  ‘They’ll have to be strong and tough men to fight Torloni’s gangsters.’

  His face cracked into a grim smile. ‘Torloni’s men know nothing,’ he said contemptuously. ‘The men I have called are fighting men; men who have killed armed Germans with their bare hands. I would feel sorry for Torloni’s gang were it not for Luigi.’

  I felt satisfied at that. I could imagine the sort of dock rats Torloni would have working for him; they wouldn’t stand a chance against disciplined men accustomed to military tactics.

  I said, ‘Remember, we want no killing.’

  ‘There will be no killing if they do not start it first. After that…?’ He shrugged. ‘I cannot be responsible for the temper of the men.’

  I left him and went into the caravan to clean and oil the Schmeisser. The tunnel had been dry and the gun hadn’t taken much harm. I was more dubious about the ammunition; wondering if the charges behind the bullets had suffered chemical deterioration over the past fifteen years. That was something I would find out when the shooting started.

  But perhaps there would be no shooting. There was a fair chance that Metcalfe and Torloni knew nothing of our connection with the partisans—I had worked hard enough to cover it. If Torloni attacked he would get the surprise of his life, but I hoped he wouldn’t—I didn’t want the Italians involved too much.

  Coertze and Walker brought Sanford to the yard in the late afternoon and Palmerini’s sons got busy slipping her and unstepping the mast. Coertze said, ‘We were followed by a fast launch.’

  So they know we are here?’

  ‘Ja,’ he said, ‘But we made them uncomfortable.’

  Walker said, ‘We took her out, and they had to follow us because they thought we were leaving. There was a bit of a lop outside the harbour and they were sea-sick—all three of them.’ He grinned. ‘So was Coertze.’

  ‘Did they do much damage to Sanford when they broke in?’

  ‘Not much,’ replied Coertze. ‘They turned everything out of the lockers, but the police had cleaned up after the pigs.’

  ‘The furnaces?’

  ‘All right; those were the first things I checked.’

  That was a relief. The furnaces were now the king-pins of the plan and if they had gone the whole of our labour would have been wasted. There would have been no time to replace them and still meet the deadline of Tangier. As it was, we would have to work fast.

  Coertze got busy getting the furnaces out of Sanford. It wasn’t a long job and soon he was assembling them on a bench in the corner of the shed. Piero looked at them uncomprehendingly but said nothing.

  I realized it would be pointless to try to conceal our plan from him and Francesca—it just couldn’t be done. And in any case, I was getting a bit tired of the shroud of suspicion with which I had cloaked myself. The Italians had played fair with us so far and we were entirely at their mercy, anyway; they could take the lot any time they wanted if they felt so inclined.

  I said, ‘We’re going to cast a new keel for Sanford.’

  Piero said, ‘Why? What is wrong with that one?’

  ‘Nothing, except it’s made of lead. I’m a particular man—I want a keel of gold.’

  His face lit up in a delighted smile. ‘I wondered how you were going to get the gold out of the country. I thought about it and could see no way, but you seemed so sure.’

  ‘Well, that’s how we’re going to do it,’ I said, and went over to Coertze. ‘Look,’ I said. ‘I’m not going to be good for any heavy work over the next few days. I’ll assemble these gadgets—it’s a sitting job—you’d better be doing something else. What about the mould?’

  ‘I’ll get started on that,’ he said. ‘Palmerini has plenty of moulding sand.’

  I unfastened my belt and, from the hidden pocket, I took the plan of the new keel I had designed many months previously. I said, ‘I had Harry make the alterations to the keelson to go with the new keel. He thought I was nuts. All you’ve got to do is to cast the keel to this pattern and it’ll fit sweetly.’

  He took the drawing and went off to see Palmerini. I started to assemble the furnaces—it wasn’t a long job and I finished that night.

  II

  I suppose that few people have had occasion to cut up gold ingots with a hacksaw. It’s a devilish job because the metal is soft and the teeth of the saw blades soon become clogged. Walker said it was like sawing through treacle.

  It had to be done because we could only melt a couple of pounds of gold at a time, and it was Walker’s job to cut up the ingots into nice handy pieces. The gold dust was a problem which I solved by sending out for a small vacuum cleaner which Walker used assiduously, sucking up every particle of gold he could find.

  And when he had finished sawing for the day he would sweep round his bench and wash the dust in a pan just like an old-time prospector. Even with all those precautions I reckon we must have wasted several pounds of gold in the sawing operation.

  We all gathered round to watch the first melt. Coertze dropped the small piece of gold on to the graphite mat and switched on the machine. There was an intense white flare as the mat went incandescent and the gold drooped and flowed and, within seconds, was ready for pouring into the mould.

  The three furnaces worked perfectly but as they were only laboratory instruments after all, and could only take a small amount at a time, it was going to be a long job. Inside the mould we put a tangle of wires which was to hold the gold together. Coertze was dubious about the method of pouring so little at a time and several times he stopped and removed gold already poured.

  ‘This keel will be so full of faults and cracks I don’t think it’ll hold,’ he said.

  So we put in more and more wires and poured the gold round them, hoping they would bind the mass together.

  I was stiff and sore and to bend was an agony, so there was not much I could do to help effectively. I discussed this with Coertze, and said, ‘You know, one of us had better show his face in Rapallo. Metcalfe knows we’re here and it’ll look odd if we all stay in this shed and never come out. He’ll know we’re up to something.’

  ‘You’d better wander round town then,’ said Coertze. ‘You can’t do much here.’

  So after Francesca had rebandaged my back, I went into town and up to the Yacht Club. The secretary commiserated with me on the fact that Sanford had been broken into and hoped that nothing had been stolen. ‘It cannot have been done by men of Rapallo,’ he said. ‘We are very strict about that here.’

  He also looked at my battered face in mute inquiry, so I smiled and said, ‘Your Italian mountains seem to be made of harder rock than those in South Africa.’

  ‘Ah, you’ve been climbing?’

  ‘Trying to,’ I said. ‘Allow me to buy you a drink.’

  He declined, so I went into the bar and ordered a Scotch, taking it to the table
by the window where I could look over the yacht basin. There was a new boat in, a large motor yacht of about a hundred tons. You see many of those in the Mediterranean—the luxury boats of the wealthy. They put to sea in the calmest of weather and the large paid crews have the life of Reilly—hardly any work and plenty of shore time. Idly, I focused the club binoculars on her. Her name was Calabria.

  When I left the club I spotted my watchers and took delight in leading them to innocent places which any tourist might have visited. If I had been fitter I would have walked their legs off, but I compromised by taking a taxi. Their staff-work was good, because I noticed a cruising car come up from nowhere and pick them up smoothly.

  I went back and reported to Francesca. She said, ‘Torloni has sent more men into Rapallo.’

  That sounded bad. ‘How many?’

  ‘Three more—that makes eight. We think that he wants enough men to follow each of you, even if you split up. Besides, they must sleep sometimes, too.’

  ‘Where’s Metcalfe?’

  ‘Still in Genoa. His boat was put into the water this morning.’

  ‘Thanks, Francesca, you’re doing all right,’ I said.

  ‘I will be glad when this business is finished,’ she said sombrely. ‘I wish I had never started it.’

  ‘Getting cold feet?’

  ‘I do not understand what you mean by that; but I am afraid there will be much violence soon.’

  ‘I don’t like it, either,’ I said candidly. ‘But the thing is under way; we can’t stop now. You Italians have a phrase for it—che sera, sera.’

  She sighed. ‘Yes, in a matter like this there is no turning back once you have begun.’

  I left her sitting in the caravan, thinking that she was beginning to realize that this was no light-hearted adventure she had embarked upon. This was deadly serious, a game for high stakes in which a few murders would not be boggled at, at least, not by the opposition—and I wasn’t too sure about Coertze.

  The keel seemed to be going well. Coertze and Piero were sweating over the hot furnaces, looking demoniacal in the sudden bursts of light. Coertze pushed up his goggles and said, ‘How many graphite mats did we have?’